


It's a Shock Not a Kiss

by Overdressedtokill (SkyeStan)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 06:30:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1256293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyeStan/pseuds/Overdressedtokill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on "I wish there were necklaces given to us at birth that were half of a unique shape and your soulmate wore the other half and they got warmer the closer together you were and colder the further away you were."  Or, Ward and Coulson go to pick up a Rising Tide hacktivist in LA and she turns out to be Ward’s soulmate.  They’re less than thrilled with each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's a Shock Not a Kiss

The truth is, it’s nothing more than a faulty piece of Asgardian jewelry.  Maybe humans have been using it for a millennia or so, but humans will believe anything.  They’re enraptured by the idea of soul mates.  Of finding the one.  Ward was only wearing his on his wrist as a statement.  A false hope.  And clearly, it’s broken.  So much for Asgard.

 

 

It was tucked under his sleeve where no one could see it, and it should’ve stayed there, cold and useless, for all of eternity, because love was just a concept and Grant Ward had decided years ago that it was a concept that he was very much not a part of.  He should’ve taken the bracelet off years ago, when he was a teenager and realized he was unloveable.  Taken it off and left it in a drawer somewhere to rot.  Lived his own life, without his destiny tied to some magic rock in a leather bracelet.  He makes poor choices.  This was a big one.

 

 

In all fairness, the bracelet started acting up in the midst of a commotion.  He’d credited it to his own nerves, that the idea of a team was making him antsy and that the rock in his bracelet was reacting to his nerves.  In retrospect, it was probably the voice.  Which was disgusting.  He shouldn’t have been reacting to a voice.  He was a professional, for fuck’s sake.  Then, he’d gotten on the stupid plane, sat across from Agent Coulson, listened to another broadcast.  Without the clutter of the Hub to catch his attention, he was more acutely aware of the blossoming heat in his wrist.  He’d excused himself to the bathroom, pulled his sleeve up to look at the stupid rock on his stupid wrist.  A normally cold, black stone swirled faintly red.  Faulty wiring.  Nerves.  It was nerves, he’d gone over this already.  No need to rehash it.  He could ignore it.

 

 

They made it to LA, and the rock was hotter, still.  Burning, itching, demanding attention that Ward would not give.  Stupid, stupid thing.  He would’ve taken the bracelet off then and there, if he hadn’t been in a rush.  Maybe he’d been morbidly curious.  It was a stupid curiosity and he’d followed through on it, and so he’d gotten what he deserved, really.  By the time they reached an unmarked van in a coffee shop parking lot, the bracelet was not just hot but impossibly tight on his wrist; and when Coulson flung the van door open and a girl smiled back at them, the bracelet vibrated, like it was supposed to do when it’s companion stone was nearby.  Which made no sense.  He was in the middle of securing a prisoner.  This was no time for his wrist to burn, or for his heart to pound, just a little bit.  He knew.  He knew then and there, when he put a black bag over soft curls and a pretty face, when his wrist _throbbed_.  He knew.  He said nothing.

 

 

She gave a first name, not a last one.  “Skye.”  It was contrived and phony and Ward was almost insulted that she thought she could fool him with that.  His wrist had stopped throbbing, but the heat of the rock was there, pressing against his veins.  Focus was key here, when dealing with a lying, anarchist girl with too much to say.  None of which was useful.  She was a babbler.  A banterer.  All fancy words for a liar.

“Okay,” she said, leaning onto the table, “this is all, well, really weird, but if we’re going to play 20 questions, I’d like to ask one.”  She was out of line, of course.

“I think we can allow that,” Coulson said.  He seemed amused by her.  Ward was not, and the buzzing of his bracelet was going to drive him up a wall, if Skye didn’t first.

 

 

He was going to protest, actually, because the very notion that she should be allowed to ask questions when she was the prisoner was just stupid and absurd and not how this was done-which was when she pulled a necklace out from under her shirt, signaling the beginning of the end.

“I’d like to know if I’m being interrogated by my so called soulmate,” Skye said, thumbing the pendant at the end of a black string.  Her pendant, glowing yellow.  Coulson didn’t even have the decency to look shocked.

“I’m sure it will come as no surprise that I’m a little too old for you,” Coulson said, like he was comforting her.  She frowned.  Ward frowned back.  “Agent Ward,” Coulson asked, “could you roll up your sleeve?”

“I’d prefer not to,” Ward said.

“It wasn’t actually a question,” Coulson replied.  “Roll up your sleeve.”  It took him a beat; for an instant, it seemed that bolting from the room would be the better option.  He sighed.  He pouted.  Coulson didn’t flinch, and Skye’s eyes had grown wide and curious and she was, actually, very pretty, which made him angrier.

 

 

He rolled up his sleeve.  Bright yellow, matching hers.  

 

 

“Well look at that,” Coulson said.  He seemed pleased.  Ward was still considering the bolting thing.  Coulson turned back to Skye with a half smile.

“You know this changes nothing,” he said.  Skye smiled for the first time.  It was not bitter.  It could’ve been, but apparently she was not that type of girl.  Apparently she was Ward’s soulmate.  He was going to be sick, probably.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Skye said, “but I was curious.”  Ward was quick to roll his sleeve back down, when he was no longer the center of attention.  Like that would cover the burning feeling.  He could take it off, but the deed was done.  He’d wanted this.  He’d kept it on, after all this time.  So this was his soulmate. 

“Let’s try to make something out of this,” Coulson said.  “The sooner you cooperate, the sooner you and Ward can be off on your first date.”  Skye tossed her head back.  She howled with laughter.

“I’m not that kind of girl,” she said.  “I don’t even know Agent Ward.”

“I don’t want to date her, sir,” Ward said.  Well, blurted.  He didn’t know if it was true.  In different circumstances, they could work out, maybe.  Not in this one.  Skye cocked her head.

“You’re not so great either,” she told him.  He deflated.  Just a little.  “I don’t even know you,” she repeated.  

“I don’t want to know you,” he replied.  She looked wounded.  He counted that as a victory, even if it made him feel slightly sick.

“Agent Ward,” Coulson said, rising from his chair, “a minute, please.”

 

 

 

“This means nothing,” Ward said, following Coulson like a lost dog, “It’s just a stupid rock-”

“That you happened to be wearing,” Coulson noted.  His smile was knowing, and it made Ward uneasy.

“Just out of habit,” Ward said.  He crossed his arms.  Coulson was going through shelves, now, digging out books and briefcases.  He found what he was looking for-an unmarked black case.

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to find true love, Agent Ward,” Coulson said.  “Apparently you and Skye had the same idea.”

“It’s a mistake, I’m sure,” Ward said.  “Maybe she stole that necklace from someone else!  She looks like the thieving kind.”  Coulson let Ward babble, and it was only when Coulson pulled the syringe out of its case that Ward realized the older man had his own problems to deal with.

“Maybe,” Coulson said. “Do you mind focusing on the task at hand for a minute?” 

“Which has to do with that?” Ward asked, gesturing to the syringe.

“Sodium pentathol,” Coulson said, “you familiar?”  Ward smirked despite himself.

“You’re going to give her a dose?” Ward asked.  He sounded pleased.  Maybe a little sadistic.  Coulson had the sense to look a bit perturbed.

“This could kill her, Ward,” Coulson said.  Not angrily, but he certainly sounded disappointed.  Ward looked back to the needle.

“Right.  So it’s for-”

“You.”

“Oh.”  The needle on the syringe looked rather imposing, and he was suddenly aware that injecting tiny little Skye with something so sharp was totally out of line.  It looked like would hurt, and he didn’t actually want to hurt her.  Maybe just get her to shut up.  Or stop staring at him with those big, brown eyes of hers.  This was not going well.  This was going the opposite of well.

“She’s a non entity,” Coulson said, “and she was right.  We have nothing on her.  So we need her to come to us.”

“You don’t think she’s going to ask me anything to probing, do you?” Ward asked.   Coulson snickered.

“You’re soulmates, Agent Ward,” Coulson said.  “Has it ever occurred to you how greatly that works in our favor?”

“We’re not soulmates,” Ward said, mostly to himself.

“Just follow my lead,” Coulson said.  Ward really couldn’t tell if Coulson was amused by this or not.  Ward really hoped not.  This was embarrassing enough as it is.  He felt like he was walking around with his pants off, or something.  Ward winced to himself.  Pants off.  He needed to think of better similes.

 

 

Being on sodium pentathol kind of felt like being stuck in a dream.  Ward was aware of what he was saying, but he had very little control over it.  It was a low dose, especially considering his height, but it was strong.

“You seem nervous, Agent Ward,” Skye said.  She pulled her vest off.  She leaned forward.  These were all very obvious gestures, screaming “look at my chest,” a method used for distraction.  Ward looked, like a sucker.  Maybe he was a sucker, since his eyes kept flitting between her cleavage and her pendant, and he wasn’t sure which one made his heart pound harder.

“I’m calling to mind my training,” he said.  He tried to mean it, even as Skye circled around him.  “There’s no way I’m gonna reveal classified secrets to a girl who’s hell bent on taking us down.”  She leaned over her shoulder.  She smelled faintly of cinnamon and she was warm, or maybe he just felt warm, or maybe he was having an allergic reaction to the sodium pentathol.  Her pendant glowed bright yellow, still, reminding him of the tight band around his wrist.  He tried not to gulp.

“Have you ever killed someone?” she asked.  If he was in his right mind, he’d have thought it was an interesting question to ask.  Like she was assessing him.  Deciding if he was worth her time.  Maybe deciding something more than that.

“Yes,” he said, without meaning to, “a few.”  He felt guilt spike in his chest for the first time in, well, a very long time.  This was not the impression he wanted to leave.  Congrats, Skye, your soulmate’s a killer.  He shook his head.  Not soulmates.  Just a glitch.  Get her to trust you.

“High risk targets.  But they were terrible people,” he said, “who were trying to kill nice people.  And I didn’t feel good afterwards.” She was pacing, and he found that it made him uneasy.  He began to fidget with his bracelet, like he might take it off.  In all fairness, he might as well.  It had done its job. 

“And,” she leaned in again, “Does your grandmother know about these things?” She seemed closer this time, and Ward became faintly aware that the heat was not from her body but from her necklace.  He frowned.

“Gramsy?” he asked.  She was grinning down at him.  He thought she mirrored a cat in that instant, far too pleased with herself.  He felt his mouth go dry.  Oh god, Gramsy.  How was he supposed to tell her about this?  She’d want to know.  She could never know.  This was a disaster.

 

 

He waited a beat, for her to ask something else.  Her lips were pursed, brow furrowed in concentration.  She was looking at his wrist, he realized.  He tried to draw his arm to his side, but she caught him.  She was touching him.  With her hand.  He wondered if his arm felt as warm to her as her chest did to him.  That didn’t sound right.  She was still touching him.

“What do you really think of all this soulmates business?” she asked.  Her fingers were as tiny as the rest of her.  He could pull away easily, if he wanted to.  He didn’t.

“I think it must be a fluke,” Ward said.  It hurt more than his first admission.  It was a crueler truth, and he hated himself for it.  “It doesn’t make any sense,” he continued, because the sodium pentathol had played nice with him for too long, and was now rearing up, making him spill his soul, “You’re not-you’re-really pretty.”  Skye pulled back.  Her fingers brushed against her necklace.

“You wish it was someone else?” Skye asked.

“Yes,” Ward said, “I do.”  She was frowning, now.

“Who?” she said.

“Not a criminal,” he replied.  She looked wilted.

“But,” she said, softly, “you don’t have anyone else in mind.”

“No, I don’t,” Ward said.

“Are you angry that I’m your soulmate?” Skye asked.  She had taken her seat back, across the table.  The distance felt colder than it had when she’d arrived.

“Furious,” Ward said.

“Why?” she asked.  Like it was a last resort kind of question.  Like she was disappointed and hurt and he wished Coulson had come up with a better plan.

“Because you’re one of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever seen, and these are the worst circumstances I could possibly think of.  Because you embarrassed me in front of my team leader.  Because I’ve been wearing this thing for so long that I was convinced it didn’t work.”

“Do you hate me?” She asked.  Something was going on in her head-he could tell by the storm brewing in her eyes, in the careful way she sat, with her hands perched on the table.

“I want to,” he said, “but no, I don’t.”

“Do you want to get to know me?” she said.

“I want to,” he repeated.  “But I’m afraid to.”

“You’re kind of sad,” she said, as an observation.

“I know,” he replied.  She moved forward, taking his hands without warning.

“Do I feel unusually warm to you?” she asked.  He nodded.  She was starting to show signs of a smile.

“You feel weirdly warm to me, too.  I think it’s a side effect.” She said.

“I really like it,” he blurted out.  He noticed that he was starting to feel woozy.  The smile appeared, small, but there.

“You’re not that tough, are you?” she asked.

“I try to be,” he said, “I thought it would intimidate you.”  She shrugged.

“I’ve met worse men,” she told him.  Something about that made his stomach lurch.  Or maybe it was the drug wearing off.  Or maybe it was his Asgardian bracelet giving him a heart attack.  One of those, probably.

“Can I kiss you, Agent Ward?” Skye asked.  “I know you don’t like me, but I want to see how it feels.” 

“It’s not you I don’t like,” he said, “it’s what you stand for.”  She cocked her head, and squeezed his hands.  He found that he had begun to trace his thumbs over her fingers.

“Is that a yes?” she asked.

“It is,” he said.  She leaned over the table, and her hair fell over her shoulder and her necklace swayed over her chest and he shut his eyes and-

 

 

His head hit the table as he blacked out.


End file.
